Such anguish ripped through his mind that he fell to his knees. But the memories wouldn’t stop. He remembered. He remembered it all.
He was a murderer.
Oh, he hated him. Archbishop Thomas Becket was the reason his friend William could not marry the woman he loved. They had been connected by kinship relationship somewhere far down the line. She was a double second cousin of William, but Becket had not granted the couple a dispensation from affinity so they could marry in the church. William had died of a broken heart shortly after. It was all Becket’s fault!
As Richard and his friends, William de Tracy, Reginald FitzUrse, and Hugh de Morville marched up to Canterbury cathedral, that was all he could think of. His dead friend, William. That and they were following the king’s order to rid him of the priest.
After two monks opened the door to the cloister, Reginald shouldered his way in, and the knights followed.
Long wooden tables lined the hall, each filled with monks who had stopped eating to stare at the knights.
“Where is Thomas Becket?” Reginald demanded.
Not one of the monks said a word.
Richard stepped forward. “Where is the traitor?” he growled.
“We bear a message from King Henry!” Reginald added. “Speak up!”
Richard grimaced. The only message he knew of was a command from King Henry to rid him of this troublesome priest.
Finally, a man dressed in white robes stood from one of the tables. He lifted his chin. He had the confidence of leadership about him. “I am here, FitzUrse,” Archbishop Thomas Becket said. “Why do you disturb these monks at mealtime?”
“By the king’s orders, you are to return with us to England,” Reginald commanded.
“I do not answer to the king, but to One in higher authority. I will not return to England.”
The impudence! Richard snarled. Treason! Who did he think he was? He had heard of Becket’s attitude but thought surely he would make the right choice when faced with four armed knights.
“You defy the king?” William asked, shocked.
“I answer only to one rule. His rule.”
Reginald stepped forward. “All who are on the side of the king, hinder the archbishop! Do not let him leave!” He whirled and stormed from the hall.
Richard moved quickly after him. “We’re not leaving.”
“No.”
As they moved out of the cloister, the monks began to whisper amongst themselves. Richard knew they would not stand against Becket. Some monks even rose and gathered near the archbishop in fear and protection, searching for guidance and direction.
Impudent servants, Richard thought with disdain.
“The monks will protect him. We don’t have a choice,” Reginald said as he put on his armor.
Richard gladly agreed. He needed no convincing.
“They are defenseless!” Hugh exclaimed. “What kind of knights are we if we cannot overpower a man of the cloth?”
“There are many of them and only four of us,” Richard said. He strapped on his sword. “We will use whatever force we must to take the archbishop to King Henry.”
“Aye!” Reginald agreed.
William put a hand on Reginald’s arm. “No harm will come to Becket.”
William had always been the softest of the group. It didn’t surprise Richard that he didn’t want to harm Becket.
Reginald jerked his arm free of William’s hold. “We will take him by force, if need be. But he will return to Henry.” He held out his hand to William. “Are you with us?”
Richard wouldn’t have been surprised if William had left. But they were friends. They had all come this far. They had all agreed this was what King Henry had ordered.
Finally, William nodded and clasped Reginald’s arm. “With you.”
Reginald grinned. Richard nodded in agreement.
“Quickly, sirs!” A monk raced out of the doors of the cloister toward them. His cold breath formed a puff with each breath he took. He pushed his hood from his head. “He has escaped into the cathedral! This way!”
He was not going to escape. He had caused so much trouble for King Henry. Becket would not escape, Richard vowed. They would bring him to England alive or dead.
The four knights quickly finished putting on their armor and followed the monk toward Canterbury Cathedral. The wooden doors were closing as they approached, and the monk came up short, stopping on the stairs to the cathedral.
Richard rushed by the monk and launched himself against the door, as did the rest of the knights. They pushed against the doors to prevent them from closing and locking. At first, there was resistance. Richard shoved harder, using his anger against Becket to fuel his strength.
Suddenly, the doors swung open. As they entered, a group of monks fled to the side wall. They had been trying to keep the doors shut to prevent them from entering.
“King’s men!” Reginald shouted, his voice echoing through the large vaulted room.
Near the altar, monks gathered together in fear. Even more brown robed monks clustered together in groups along the walls. Richard stormed toward the altar, following Reginald.
“Where is Thomas Becket, traitor to the king?” Reginald demanded.
The monks remained silent, fearful. Terrified. They clung together.
The knights walked down the aisle, past statues of saints and angels. Two large white pillars stood at either side of the altar.
Richard’s gaze scanned the cathedral for Becket. He would bring the archbishop back to face the King. He would make sure Becket answered for his insolence.
“Where is the archbishop?” Reginald demanded.
Becket emerged from behind a group of monks, easing them gently aside as if parting a curtain. “Here I am, ready to suffer in the name of He who redeemed me with His blood. God forbid that I should flee on account of your swords or that I should depart from righteousness.”
Richard growled softly. “Absolve and restore to communion those you have excommunicated and return to office those who have been suspended!” Becket had excommunicated bishops who took the king’s side. All were innocents who failed to follow Becket’s command. He used his power to punish them.
Murmurings grew louder near the door they had entered through, where monks had gathered. Hugh quickly raced to them, brandishing his sword before them to discourage any interference.
The archbishop shook his head, lifting his chin. “No penance has been made, so I will not absolve them.”
He was speaking specifically of the Bishops of London and Salisbury who had supported the king. In revenge, the archbishop excommunicated them. Enraged at his insolence, Richard pulled his sword from its sheath. He would teach him not to defy the king!
“If you do not do as the king commands, then you will die,” Reginald threatened.
The archbishop stood his ground, refusing to obey Reginald’s command to come forth and allow himself to be taken to the king.
Richard’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. So be it.
As one, the three knights lurched forward. William’s hand grasped hold of the archbishop’s white garments, attempting to drag him from the altar.
Reginald also grabbed the Archbishop’s arm, pulling him, trying to force him from the altar.
The archbishop seized hold of one of the pillars, holding tight. He fought back, shoving Reginald away from him. “Don’t touch me, FitzUrse! You owe me fealty and obedience, you who foolishly follow your accomplices.”
Reginald stumbled, but quickly righted himself. He raised his sword. “I don’t owe fealty or obedience to you who are in opposition to the fealty I owe my lord king.”
One of the monks threw himself protectively before Becket.
William pulled at Becket’s robes, trying to free him from the pillar which he clung to.
Cries and murmurings came from the monks at the rear of the cathedral where Sir Hugh was holding them back.
Richard grabbed the monk who
was protecting Becket and twisted his arms, trying to disengage him from the archbishop.
As chaos ensued, Becket inclined his head. “I commend my cause and that of the Church to God, to St. Mary and to the blessed martyr, Denys.”
With a cry of frustration, Reginald brought his sword down. The monk hugging the archbishop for protection lifted his arm to stop the blow. The sword hissed through the air, cutting the monk’s raised arm and landing on the archbishop’s head. The monk screamed in pain. Clutching his arm, he staggered away.
Blood trailed down the side of Becket’s face.
Now perhaps Richard thought the archbishop would realize they meant to take him to the king.
William lifted his sword and brought the flat part down upon Becket’s head. It landed with a dull thud.
Remarkably, the Archbishop still stood and stumbled from the pillar.
Reginald shoved the archbishop and he fell to his knees and elbows.
With a sick realization, Richard knew he would never go to the king, never follow the king’s orders. Disgusted at his impudence, Richard lifted his sword high in the air. His teeth clenched tightly. “Take that for the love of my lord William!” He brought the weapon down as hard as he could, using all his strength. The sword hit with such fury that it cut deeply into Becket’s head, slicing through his skull to land on the stones below. The sword hit the floor with a loud clang, jarring Richard’s arms, and the metal blade split in two.
The archbishop collapsed and his blood flowed over the stones and down the steps.
Richard remembered everything. With his memories came a heavy cloak of guilt.
Mercy emerged from the cottage, almost bouncing. She was so full of excitement and joy. Richard had granted her hope. Salvation. The moon was high overhead and a wind whipped around her as she approached the barn. They were leaving. She was almost done packing. Just the food and… She noticed that Richard’s horse was not there. Confused, she swept into the barn, searching for Richard. But he was not there.
Scowling, she called, “Richard!” The darkness was complete. Everything was silent except for the creaking of the barn in the wind. “Richard!” she called desperately. Where was he? A rippling of trepidation snaked across her shoulders. She turned the corner to his stall, but it was empty. Where had he gone?
Confusion filled her. Where was he?
His horse was gone. Had he left? She quickly pushed the thought aside. For a moment, a fog clouded her mind. Why would he leave? Perhaps he went somewhere. Back to the inn? Why? Why would he do that? She was just making excuses.
Had he remembered who he was?
The thought sent a paralyzing fear through her. She should have told him. She should have told him the entire truth. That he was one of the knights who killed Archbishop Thomas Becket. But she was afraid he would leave her. And she needed him. Desperately.
Quickly, she pushed all the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Kit. Still, Richard had promised to help her, to save Kit.
Again, she shoved the thoughts aside. Even if he had left, it made no difference. She had to concentrate on saving Kit. There was only one thing she could do. Continue with the plan. Leave Goodmont. She rushed back across the yard and into the cottage. Finish packing.
Mercy’s mind churned. What was left? Food. She quickly took a blanket from her bed and tied all four corners together. She began to place some of the leftover bread into the make-shift bag. Food. Ale. She searched beside her bed. She knew she had a flask somewhere.
“Mercy?”
She whirled.
Walter stood in the doorway. He glanced at Kit’s sleeping form before moving to her. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
Relief swept through her. “Help me. I’m packing.” She continued searching for the flask. “I can’t stay here.”
“You’re leaving?” he asked with exasperation.
Mercy searched beneath the straw. Her hand closed around something leather and she brought it forth with a sigh. Dean had won this in a dice game before she knew him. They had never used it.
Walter walked up to her. “Think about what you’re doing. You can’t just leave in the middle of the night!”
She shot to her feet. “I have to! Look what happened to Abbey! I’m not going to end up like that. I’m not going to let them have Kit!” She moved around Walter to the blanket, tossing the flask into it.
“You have time. You don’t have to go right now.”
“What difference will it make if I leave now or later? Will Simon or Lief or Roger or any of them change their mind and help me? Will the bishop let me keep Kit?” Her voice broke on the last. “I won’t end up like Abbey.”
Walter sighed softly. “Where is your knight?”
Despondence settled across Mercy’s shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s gone. His horse is not here.”
“He left?”
“I don’t know.”
“I told you to turn him over to the bishop.”
Mercy shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. The bishop would still want Kit.”
“It’s dangerous on the road at night. At least wait until sunup.”
Mercy felt impending doom all around her. Richard was gone. She was alone. She glanced at Kit. He was all she had. Her heart swelled inside her. How could she protect him?
“Think of your boy, Mercy. Think of the danger you will face alone on the road. Wait until sunup.”
With a sigh, she nodded in agreement. It would give Richard time to return from wherever he went. It would give her time for her final hope. “Only until sun up.”
Despite Mercy’s best efforts, she continually looked for Richard. She had come to depend on him more than she realized. They had planned to escape together. She ran her fingers over her lips.
She had trusted him.
Her insides twisted tight. She glanced one last time at the road as the sun began to rise, hoping and wishing to see his strong form riding toward her. But the dirt road remained empty and quiet. Disappointment crested inside of her. She returned to the cottage. She had already loaded the horse, and there was just one more thing to do. She gathered Kit into her arms. He stirred, but she kissed his forehead, whispering, “Quiet, Kit. Sleep, little one.”
She ducked beneath the curtain and stepped outside…
…and froze. Standing on the road, as if waiting for her, were Simon, Thomas and Bartholomew. What made her gasp was the three soldiers and Bishop Devdan that were also there on horses. Her mouth dropped and she clutched Kit to her. She glanced at her horse, but she knew she could never outrun them. She straightened her back. “Bishop Devdan,” she greeted. She shot a condemning glare to Simon.
“My dear,” the bishop said. He slowly dismounted and held his hand out. One of the soldiers dismounted and placed his golden cane in his hand. Clunk. Shuffle. Clunk. He approached her.
Mercy squeezed Kit tightly, protectively. “It is not time.”
“No,” the bishop agreed. “But I have been told that you intend to flee.” He glanced at her horse and back to her.
“Flee?” her voice quivered. “No! I am going to visit my cousin. One of them is ill and –”
The bishop cocked his head. The round purple zucchetto covering part of his balding head tilted with the movement. “I’ve heard enough of your lies, child.”
She held Kit firmly against her, panic clawing inside of her. “Who told you I was lying? Simon? He just doesn’t believe me! Bart?”
Bishop Devdan swiveled his head to the men.
Mercy followed his stare. Simon stepped aside and Walter moved forward. A whispered gasp escaped Mercy’s lips and her chest tightened with betrayal.
“It’s for the village, Mercy,” he whispered.
“He told me everything,” the bishop said. “He told me your plans to take your beautiful boy and run away and deny the Lord’s orders.”
Mercy shook her head as tears welled in her eyes.
Kit
opened tired eyes and turned his head.
“He told me you lied to the village men in order to conceal a criminal.”
The betrayal ran even deeper and again Mercy shook her head. She looked at Walter, but he would not meet her stare.
“He told me you protected a man who killed Archbishop Becket.”
Simon’s lip twisted in contempt.
“He told me that you wanted him to kill me.”
Treachery sliced through her, but even more so, desperation. The bishop knew everything! Mercy could do nothing but deny the allegations. She glanced at the guards and shook her head fiercely. “No,” she whispered in denial.
“Another lie?”
“No. No! It’s not a lie. I would never want to kill. It’s a sin,” she stated emphatically. “It’s a sin.”
“Hmmm,” the bishop mused. “It seems to me this village is in need of much redemption.” His gaze dropped to Kit. He reached an old, wrinkled hand out to the boy.
Instinctively, Mercy pulled him away from the bishop’s tainted touch.
The bishop’s dark gaze snapped to hers.
For just a moment, Mercy saw fierce anger burning in his orbs. Then, it was gone.
He seemed to weigh the situation for a moment, staring down thoughtfully at the boy. “I need to have something so I know you are truly repentant.” His lips twisted. “Give me the knight.”
Mercy’s heart dropped. Desolation swept through her as she realized there was no escape for her or for Kit. She knew Abbey’s desperation. “I don’t know where he is.”
The bishop leaned in. “A shame.”
She realized he had known this already. It was all a plan to get Kit. She placed Kit’s feet on the ground, eyeing the soldiers. “It’s not time,” she whispered.
“You need to show me that you are truly sorry for the sins you’ve committed.”
Mercy’s trembling hand tightened around Kit’s arm. They were here to take him from her, to punish her. She remembered Abbey’s soul-wrenching cry when they took Luke. Desperate, she knelt and embraced Kit. She held him tightly, tears entering her eyes. She would do anything, anything to save him. “I love you,” she whispered, and pressed a kiss to his head. Her heart pounded with anguish. “Run,” she whispered to him. Then, she pulled back and gently but urgently shoved him toward the forest. “Run!”
A Knight With Mercy - an Assassin Knights novel Page 8